Brother Mine
by quintobean107
Summary: One Shot: Sherlock's in trouble, will big brother save him?


2001, London-

Mycroft stood outside of an old house in a dark suit with his cherished umbrella. He forcefully pushed the decrepit door open, paint chips falling as it swung. He was met with a dozen pairs of red eyes. His nose crinkled at the smell. He approached the nearest person,

"I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. Where might I find him?"

The man, sitting against the wall stared intensely at Mycroft as he thought, then abruptly burst into hysterical laughter. Mycroft sighed impatiently, moving on to the next person,

"Have you seen Sherlock Holmes?"

The woman, also sitting against the wall looked up at him. Mycroft knew she was about 27, but her eyes were sunken in, her hair matted, and skin grey,

"Who?"

She asked, baring her broken yellow teeth,

"Sherlock. I know he's here."

Mycroft replied through gritted teeth. The woman frowned,

"What the 'ell kin'of name's that?"

She slurred. Mycroft's patience was wearing thin,

"He's 23, six foot, dark curled hair, thin, has blue eyes and is incredibly stupid."

The woman suddenly grinned,

"Ohhhh…"

She cooed, then chuckled,

"Blue eyes eh? Pretty one 'e is…'asn't spoke none in two days though."

Mycroft furrowed his brow,

"Where?"

"Upstairs."

The woman pointed directly above her. Mycroft sped up the steps at the other end of the room, until he reached the top of the stoop. He entered the only room with an open door. It was eerily quiet, and musky. He scanned the area counting 26 people, but he couldn't make out the details because of the dark ambiance. He stepped further inside. Finally, he spotted Sherlock's curls popping out from under a shred of blanket. He approached Sherlock, then poked him with the end of his umbrella,

"Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't budge. Mycroft knelt down, gently placing his umbrella on the floor. He shook his brother's shoulder,

"Sherlock Holmes, get up this instant."

Still, Sherlock's body remained unmoving. Mycroft's heart dropped as he rolled Sherlock on his back. The blanket slid off of him, revealing the incisions and bruising on the bend of Sherlock's arms, and his bare, abnormally thin midsection. Mycroft placed his middle and index fingers on his brother's neck, checking his pulse. He also observed the high temperature and tremor of Sherlock's body. Mycroft quickly fumbled for his cell phone, then dialed. He placed the phone to his ear, the fingers of his other hand still on Sherlock's vein,

"Get to the second floor, I need assistance immediately!"

Within seconds, two men in black suits ran into the room, approaching Mycroft,

"I fear he's overdosed, we must get him medical assistance now."

The two men knelt beside Sherlock, one taking his legs, the other his shoulders. They hoisted him up, and followed Mycroft hastily down the steps, and out to the black Bentley by the curb. Sherlock was laid in the back seats opposite Mycroft. Quickly the car peeled away down the street. Mycroft braced Sherlock's body with his hands on the young man's chest and shoulder as the car turned. Sherlock's head lulled to the side facing Mycroft. His curly hair clung to his forehead from the sweat.

"You've really done it this time brother mine…"

Sherlock's blue eyes surprisingly fluttered open. Mycroft drew closer to him,

"Sherlock!"

Mycroft patted Sherlock's cheek, trying to help him come to,

"Sherlock, say something."

"It's cold." Sherlock replied in a breathy whisper, then shut his eyes again. Mycroft unbuttoned his coat, peeling it off, then draping it over him,

"Stay awake. We're getting you help."

Sherlock shook his head,

"No…"

He managed to reply, glancing at Mycroft,

"Don't...need…"

Sherlock gasped suddenly, trying to breathe,

"Don't be an idiot! You're going into cardiogenic shock!"

Mycroft turned to the man driving,

"How much time!?"

"Two minutes!"

He replied, speeding through a stop sign. Mycroft turned back to Sherlock placing his fingers back to his neck,

"Pulse is rapid, but faint."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but Mycroft interrupted,

"Now is not the time for any witty remarks. Try to control your breathing."

The car skidded to a halt at the front of the hospital where medical staff were already waiting. Sherlock felt hands lift him up and out of the car as his vision blurred, then went black.

The next day-

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. The light from the window momentarily overwhelmed his aching brain. The room smelled of toasted bread and eggs which turned his stomach. He weakly lifted his head to take in his surroundings. His arm was injected with some kind of substance in the IV bag hanging to his left. He deduced it was diazepam going by the consistency and brown color,

"Ah, you're awake. Finally. It seemed as though you might not wake up at all." Mycroft stated, setting the newspaper in his hand down on the in-table to Sherlock's right.

"Call the nurse, they should have me on lorazepam instead of Diazepam, it's better in cases of cardiogenic shock."

"I told them not to use lorazepam because it is a benzodiazepine which one can get highly addicted to, and seeing as that's why you're here in the first place, I find it would be unwise to introduce you to another possible vice."

Mycroft smirked at Sherlock,

"It's not a vice, it's research."

Sherlock retorted, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

"That's what you said the last time I found you in one of those drug houses. You don't fool me little brother."

Mycroft picked up a plate of toast and eggs from the in-table next to his paper, taking a bite out of the bread. Sherlock scoffed,

"I thought you'd given up wheat."

"I thought you'd given up cocaine."

Mycroft said as he chewed.

"You've put on 4 pounds since I saw you last."

"Don't berate me Sherlock, you aren't our mother. By the way, she and father will be back within the hour, they needed to return to their hotel for a shower and a new change of clothes."

"Of course you had to run and tell _mummy_ and _daddy_."

Sherlock mocked, frowning at Mycroft.

"Did you expect me to lie to them?"

"Yes. Just like you do with everything that pertains to you."

"The things I hide from them don't _pertain_ to risking my own life."

Sherlock went silent. Mycroft grabbed the paper from Sherlock's bedside, rolled it up, then placed it under his arm,

"Do try to be kinder to them, Sherlock, they haven't taken the circumstances well."

"Me? Kind?"

Sherlock questioned with a soft chuckle,

"Now I know there's a heart there somewhere, you always were so emotional."

Mycroft turned to leave,

"Are you implying you don't?"

Sherlock asked. Mycroft turned back to him,

"Don't what?"

"Have a heart."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows,

"Indeed. Life is better without one."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes,

"Now, you and I both know you're lying going by the state of your umbrella."

Mycroft furrowed his brow, thinking intently,

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Sherlock smirked,

"It's missing."

Mycroft's eyes widened. He frantically looked around for his umbrella, which was nowhere to be seen,

"It seems you left it at that house after you discovered the state I was in. So, no ' _brother mine' ,_ it looks like you've a heart after all."

Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a moment before swiftly exiting the room,

"Take care Sherlock. I'll keep in touch"

He said as he closed the door. Sherlock laid his upper body back down, shutting his eyes,

"Take care Mycroft."


End file.
